


Cold Hands, Warm Heart

by lilacsigil



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-07
Updated: 2012-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-04 23:57:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacsigil/pseuds/lilacsigil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jenny finds a Silurian warrior behind the house. Then she puts the kettle on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Hands, Warm Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kmo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmo/gifts).



"You come away from there right now, my girl, or I'll lock the door and leave you outside to shiver!" Cook yelled, but Jenny took no notice of her blustering. Cook wasn't going to come away from the fire to the door, not with her rheumatism the way it was and half a bottle of sherry in her. Nobody had kept regular hours since the master passed on. 

The woman was still there, propped up against the wall of their tiny yard, fast asleep. The first time Jenny had come outside, to empty the dishwater, she'd tried to shake the woman awake – it was only October, but it was far too cold to be out in the London night. The woman had clumsily struck out at her with one gloved hand and mumbled something unintelligible. A drunk, then. Surely she'd be on her way soon enough. An hour later, though, she was still there. 

"Wake up!" Jenny called to her. "The mistress'll be furious if you freeze to death in her yard!" That wasn't entirely true – Jenny's elderly mistress was grieving her husband and drinking more than was good for her – but most people responded to the threat of authority, in Jenny's experience.

The woman didn't move. Jenny sidled over to her. "Wake up! Come on, do you want me to call the coppers on you?"

She still didn't move. Jenny looked back to the open door just to check that Cook hadn't carried out her threat, then crouched down beside the tattered form, hoping the woman wasn't dead – she smelled a bit odd, and not like booze. "Come on, wakey wakey, you can't stay – oh!" 

The woman's heavy scarf had slipped down from her face, revealing not the reddened features of a drunk but a smooth green skin, bright like spring leaves in the yellow light of the gas lamps. A felt hat was jammed firmly on her head, and Jenny was oddly disappointed that she couldn't see if her hair was the same vivid green. 

"Blimey, you're an odd one," Jenny muttered. She reached out one hand to gently touch the woman's face and pulled her hand back in fright – not because her skin was smooth and hard like fingernails, but because her skin was ice cold. 

At Jenny's touch, the woman had slowly opened one bright blue eye, with obvious effort, but it slipped closed again. 

Jenny shook her by the shoulder. "Wake up! You're going to freeze out here." 

The woman didn't move. Jenny glanced around the yard, but no-one was around. She ran back to the kitchen door and peered in. Cook had gone to bed, and since that wretched scullery maid had run off to a new job there was no-one else in the kitchen. Jenny hurried back to the green-skinned woman, grabbed her arms and hauled her up. Jenny bent forward to take the woman's full weight on her back, then carried her carefully into the kitchen, staggering slightly on the steps. 

"Lucky we weren't going in the front door, I'd never have made it." Jenny eased the woman down to the floor by the oven, the warmest spot in the house. "There you go." She ducked into the next room and grabbed her overcoat from its peg, then hurried back and draped the heavy black wool over the woman. Her skin really was green, even in the clearer light of the kitchen lamps, and her face like something out of a penny dreadful, a cross between a human and a lizard. The creatures in the books had always looked hideous and terrifying, though, and this woman just looked like, well, a person. A very green and scaly person. Her coat, scarf and hat might be ragged, but, Jenny noticed as she tucked her own coat around her, the shirt and skirt underneath were good quality, sturdy clothes and her boots, while scuffed, were very fine indeed. 

It took a good half hour for the woman to rouse from her stupor, by which time Jenny had stirred up the fire and made a pot of strong black tea. She blinked her blue, lashless eyes, and tried to get to her feet. 

"Wait, wait, you'll hurt yourself," Jenny gently pushed her back down, and she was not strong enough to resist. "Stay here, I'll get you a cuppa."

"Th-thank you," the woman replied, her accent posher than Jenny had expected. Jenny turned to the teapot and tipped a decent splash of milk into a mug, then sugar – always best for invalids to have gentler tasting food – and turned back to find the woman on her feet, holding a very shiny sword. It was pointed right at Jenny's throat.

"Who are you and where am I?" The woman was still shaky and had a hand on the edge of the stove, which didn't seem to be hurting her despite the heat of the iron. There was no doubting the determination in her voice.

Jenny couldn't back away with the table behind her, but she kept a firm grasp on the mug of tea in case she needed to defend herself. "You're the one who came into the yard and started freezing to death – don't you start waving a sword at me!"

The woman glared back for a moment, then abruptly sheathed the sword in a movement almost too fast for Jenny to follow. "My apologies to so abuse your kindness. I am Ninth Division Fourth Lieutenant Vastra of the Fifteenth Igneous Brigade." 

"I'm Jenny, and I work here." Jenny handed her the mug. "Well, Miss Vastra, do you drink tea?"

Vastra did indeed, and Jenny joined her at the table. It didn't seem to be an occasion for formality. The green skin and the sword seemed so bizarre that it felt like those nights when Jenny and her sisters would huddle together in their one bed, telling each other ridiculous stories and sharing the hot brick around until they warmed up enough to sleep. Jenny felt as if she was transported back in time into one of those stories, and almost expected to hear Hannah and Peggy's muffled giggles escaping the hands they pressed over their mouths in an effort to stay quiet. Vastra was very real, though, and was slowly drinking the tea with careful darts of her pointed tongue. 

Catching Jenny's stare, she put down the tea. "I am a carnivore, and derive little nourishment from this tea. It is warming, though, and very pleasant, as tea goes."

"You eat only meat, then, the same as a tiger! I've got a few cold chops left from dinner, if you'd like." 

Vastra nodded thanks and Jenny got up to fetch the food from the pantry. Normally she wouldn't dare give things away to a stranger, but it was only her and cook in the kitchen and the mistress upstairs wouldn't notice a few chops missing, not with all the gin she was drinking. It was the master who'd been the penny-pincher, and he was gone. There'd be no reference for Jenny from the mistress, either – she'd always thought Jenny was too familiar with the old man. 

Jenny put the plate down in front of Vastra, and turned to fetch some of the battered kitchen cutlery that the staff used, but Vastra had removed her gloves and picked up the chop, eating delicately and swiftly with her sharp white teeth. Jenny sat back down. 

"So, Miss Vastra, where did you learn to use a sword? That must come in handy."

Vastra finished a second chop before answering. "I was trained in warfare from my very hatching, as were my sisters. A sword is not the most sophisticated of weapons, but it is quiet, portable and efficient."

Jenny thanked her years in service for the ability to hold her tongue. She'd nearly asked Vastra about her sisters, and if they "hatched" too, before catching the angry sorrow in her expression. They must be gone then, like Hannah and Peggy. 

"I'm sorry about your sisters. You must miss them." 

Jenny was definitely getting better at reading Vastra's expressions: that was surprise. "I – thank you. No-one has said that to me. Just that I should find better things to do than take revenge on their accidental murderers."

"Well, I can't go around taking revenge on the flu, can I?" Jenny shook her head, eager to get away from this morbid talk. "What 'better things' did you find to do?"

Vastra put down the last chop, the bone gleaming clean. "Why, the duties of any warrior: to fight the wicked and protect the weak. And, of course, the wicked provide me with sustenance."

"Sustenance?" Jenny suddenly realised what she meant and gasped. "How much do you need to eat? Surely you couldn't consume an entire man?" 

"My home was warm and we did not need to eat so much. Your land is cold and just moving about takes a great deal of energy for me. I have a home beneath the steam pipes of a Turkish bath-house but I still need to eat a good-sized human male every three to four days."

Jenny went over and stoked the fire with vigour, warming the kitchen even more. She could think of a few good-sized human males that she wouldn't mind seeing skewered on Vastra's sword. Or on her teeth. "All those clothes don't help you stay warm? It's going to get a lot colder." 

Vastra shook her head. "No – these clothes are designed to keep heat in, but if I cannot sufficiently warm my body in the first place, they do little good. Today, a miscreant struck me across the stomach with an iron bar and the energy I expended healing that injury was too much to let me reach my refuge. Hence, our meeting."

Jenny scowled. "Did you get him? The man who hit you?" 

Vastra's tongue flicked out, tasting the air. "No, but I have his scent."

Refilling their mugs, Jenny sat back at the table, an idea forming itself as if it was the next part of a story she was telling. "You need somewhere better to live. Somewhere with good heat, where you can warm up properly."

"The steam pipes are pleasant, but I lose much of my stored warmth in the tunnels before even reaching the surface. I have funds and have considered purchasing a dwelling, but your property laws are complex and people are afraid of my appearance."

"You have funds?" Jenny looked at her askance: she'd never known anyone who spoke as well as Vastra to be open about money. Having it was for the upper classes; talking about it for the lower. And that was probably why Jenny's wages hadn't been paid in a month. "Well, there's only two things that matter in London: money and appearance. If you've got money, I can take care of your appearance. Tell me, do you speak any other languages? Or did they just teach you English in your warrior training?"

Vastra laughed, too, putting her hand over Jenny's. It was still cold, though not as much as before. "When I was trained, there weren't any humans, let alone English people. My race has been asleep for a very long time. No, I was trained to quickly assimilate the language of those around me. I speak fragments of many of your languages, though the ones I speak best are English and Rumanian – the owners of the Turkish bath-house are not Turkish."

"Rumanian is perfect. No-one knows anything about Rumania! Now, my brother Paul is a typesetter, so he'll make you up some fake papers for a bit of cash. I'll borrow one of the mistress's mourning veils to cover you up. No-one will question a widow's funds, and Madam Vastra has a nice ring to it, don't you think? Then we can get you organised with a bank account and a house."

"Fake papers? That does not sound very moral."

Jenny narrowed her eyes. "But it isn't wicked. I see you took those clothes from the rich, not the poor, except that outer coat."

"A good coat attracted too much attention. I traded one to an old woman and wore hers instead. But I suppose you are right – papers are a small thing, and if they allow me to spend my gems, it is acceptable."

Jenny recoiled slightly at more open talk of money, the revelation of the gems as startling than finding a green-faced lizard woman in the yard. "Your funds are gems? Are you sure you should tell me this? You don't know me from Adam."

Vastra leaned close, pushing her mug of tea aside. "I do not know this Adam, but I do know you. You were unafraid of my appearance, and I believe you have a warrior's heart."

"What if you're wrong?" Jenny stared at Vastra's green face, mesmerised.

"Then I vow to you I will cut out that heart of yours and eat it." Vastra smiled again, an imperceptible creasing around her eyes. "But I do not think I will need to fulfil that vow."

Jenny smiled back, her small teeth bared. "Take me with you and I promise you will never have to."


End file.
